A Normal Life
by sparklyscorpion
Summary: All Erik has ever wanted is a normal life, and he finally has one - a wife, a child. But nothing is ever as it seems at the house across the lake. Leroux-based.


_Original Author's Note: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux._

 _I'd love to say that the idea for this story is mine, but it isn't. Jennyfair was the one who came up with the original premise, and with her permission, I thought about it and came up with the following story. Thanks to my wonderful beta, Mongie, who corrects my numerous verb tense issues and is always an encouraging ray of precious sunshine._

 _Author's Note 5/30/2016: Wow, I wrote this in 2008, which feels like ages ago!_

* * *

At first glance, the scene inside the house appeared no different from countless other domestic scenes that played out in the other homes of Paris. There was a woman staring out a window as she rocked her baby to sleep, and there was a man who was scribbling furiously on the papers spread out before him. The man would lift his eyes from his work occasionally, glancing at the pair before returning to his task, but the woman seemed oblivious to everything except the landscape outside her window.

This particular house, however, was five stories beneath the streets of Paris and had no windows. Christine was gazing at a mural that had been painted where a window would be in a normal home, but she seemed either not to notice or not care that it was only an imitation. She looked happy to Erik, though, and that was all that mattered. As long as Christine was happy, Erik was content.

The baby began to fuss, and Christine smiled indulgently at the child in her arms. "Oh Jacqueline," she crooned softly, lifting the baby to rest against her shoulder. "What's wrong, little girl? Do you want to hear Papa sing? You're always such a good girl when he sings for us, aren't you? Yes you are, such a good little girl."

If anyone else dared to speak in such a sickeningly sweet tone in Erik's presence, he would have cheerfully wrung a neck or two.

"Won't you sing for us, Erik? Jacqueline always stops fussing the moment she hears your voice." Christine's lips curled into a becoming smile, and Erik stared at them for a moment.

How could he possibly refuse her anything? She had become his living bride, and she still breathed. She had not wilted when he had removed his mask and kissed her forehead. She had not died when he had kissed her lips or when he had touched her as a man touches his wife. She was his, and yet death had not claimed her. How could he not give her anything she asked of him?

The child quieted as soon as Erik opened his mouth, just as she usually did. He watched Christine's eyes become unfocused and glazed as he sang, as if she were far away from the home that he had built beneath the Opera Garnier. Erik took a step towards his wife, then another, until he was standing just behind her. Resting his bony hands against her shoulders, he sighed as Christine relaxed beneath his fingers. He had never imagined that his life could be so _perfect_ …

When the lullaby faded, Christine blinked several times before returning to him. "I think I'm going to put her to bed now," she murmured gently, leaning down to press her lips against the baby's forehead.

Erik silently watched his wife – his _wife_! – leave the room, still cooing at the baby in her arms. He felt extraordinarily pleased that he had been able to give her something that made her so happy, and his thin lips twisted into a smile as he returned to his work. Erik immersed himself in the music once again and attempted to capture the melody that had been eluding him all night. Several moments later, the sound of Christine's footsteps pulled him away from his latest composition. She lingered in the doorway, as if she was afraid to interrupt him.

He waited for her to speak, but she didn't say a word, only continued gazing at him with an unreadable expression. "Is something wrong, my dear?"

"No, nothing's wrong," she quickly assured him, although Erik could see that something was troubling her. Christine timidly approached him, her fingers twisting at the lace collar of her nightgown. "I was just thinking." She slid onto the bench beside him, staring at his clenched hands.

"What are you thinking about?" he prompted after a moment of silence.

"Jacqueline." Christine still refused to meet his eyes, blushing prettily as she continued to study his hands. "I think she's lonely."

Erik smiled indulgently, even though his wife couldn't see it. "She's a baby, Christine. She can't be lonely."

"Well, maybe not yet, but she will be. When I was young, I was lonely. I always wanted a…" Christine's face grew even redder as she squirmed uncomfortably on the bench. Impulsively covering his fist with one of her hands, she took a deep breath before blurting out her thoughts. "Erik, I…I think…I want another baby."

A curious numb sensation spread through Erik's limbs as her request rang in his ears. "Aren't you pleased with the one you already have?" he asked, his voice sounding strange and raspy.

Christine's eyes flew to his face, her shock evident. "I love Jacqueline," she protested, the color draining from her cheeks. "I just want to give her a brother or a sister. I want us to be a family. A normal family."

Erik was not normal, and he was acutely aware of that fact. "Another baby might not be so beautiful, Christine. Another baby might look like…" He couldn't push his name past the knot that had formed in his dry throat, but he could see that she understood.

"I don't care," she whispered savagely, pressing the palms of her hands against his sallow cheeks. "I would love Jacqueline even if she was…" Christine leaned close, and he could feel her shaky breath against his chin as she spoke. "I'd still love her. You know that I would."

A tortured groan formed in his chest as she brushed her lips against his own, her fingers gently moving aside the stray lock of wispy hair that had fallen across his temple. Her eyes were bright as she pulled away from him, and he could almost see the madness that caused them to sparkle. How could she not be mad? She had married him!

He knew that he should be noble. He should send her to bed and lock himself away, so he would not be tempted to crawl into those welcoming arms. He should tell her that he'd give her anything she requested, anything at all, except another child. If he was noble, he would not accept the invitation that was so clearly written on her irresistible features.

But Erik was not noble.

* * *

When Erik rolled from their bed later that evening, Christine mumbled a sleepy protest but did not stir. He carefully tucked the quilt around her, his fingers lingering upon her bare shoulder for a brief moment before he guiltily pulled away. Even after a year of marriage, he felt that he had no right to touch her like that.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Erik buried his face in his hands and wondered what it was about Christine that made his resolve so weak. Would there be another baby? He had nearly lost her in childbirth for the first one. There had been so much blood, an impossible amount of blood, and the only thing that had kept him from fetching a doctor was Christine's unnaturally strong grip on his arm. She had begged him not to leave her, not even for a moment, and so he had stayed beside her.

It had been a cruel punishment, watching his beloved Christine scream and twist in agony on the bed where the child had been conceived. Erik had been certain that she would not live, and it was his fault. It had not been right for him to marry her, and it had not been right for him to desire her as an ordinary man desired his wife. Once he had had her Erik could not stop, and so she would suffer because he had been unable to restrain himself, and she would die because of his weakness.

He'd offered a litany of prayers to any god that would listen, and hour after excruciating hour passed by until, at last, he held a squirming mass of blood and baby in his hands. Christine's eyes were closed and her cheeks were drained of all color, but she sighed when he dared speak her name. She had survived, and the relief that coursed through his body was intoxicating. Feeling hopeful for the first time in months, Erik examined the child that they had created.

Erik completely understood the revulsion his father must have felt when presented with him. The baby's yellow eyes glinted in the dark room, and her pale skin was pulled tightly across her cheeks. There was only a gaping hole where her nose should be, and she was nearly bald except for a few tufts of dark hair.

He stared in shock at the ugly creature that had nearly robbed him of his angel, and he had never felt such overwhelming disgust before in his life. How could his mother have allowed him to survive? Erik would not repeat her mistake. Cradling the child's head with his fingers, he pressed his thumb against the baby's throat. The child struggled feebly, waving her thin little arms in protest, but Erik did not relent until she had stopped moving completely.

Erik had not killed it out of sympathy; no, he had been driven by self-preservation. As long as Christine did not see the baby alive, he could quietly dispose of it and tell his wife that the child had been stillborn. She would never know what a hideous beast his daughter had been. She wouldn't be repulsed by him for giving her such a child, and his wife would not know of his failure to produce what she had wanted so desperately. She would stay with him. He couldn't bear to lose her, and he would do anything to keep her here – anything at all.

Things had not gone as smoothly as Erik had planned, however. When Christine had come to her senses a few hours after giving birth, she had asked to see the baby. Erik had informed her that the child had been born dead, and he had already buried her. Christine had stared at him blankly for several moments, and then the screaming began.

Erik had never been afraid of madness before – he had embraced his own years ago, and he had even learned how to exploit it when it suited his purposes – but Christine was different. He'd known that she was mad when she had agreed to stay with him – he couldn't attribute her presence here to anything except insanity – but listening to his wife sob uncontrollably had made his chest ache with misery. The silence had been even worse. He had watched her staring mutely at nothing for hours, and she hadn't been tempted from her grief by anything – not food, not sleep, not even music. He'd painted a window-shaped mural on the wall in the parlor so she'd have something to look at, but she hadn't seemed to notice or care.

Days had melted into weeks, and still Christine's depression remained the same. She'd grown thin and pale, and Erik had feared that he was watching her slowly die, knowing the entire time that it was his fault. He had promised to take care of her, to provide for her, and to make sure that she wanted for nothing, and yet he was the one who was responsible for this! He had wanted a normal life; he had wanted to be a normal husband, and he had allowed himself to forget for a few months that he had no right to have normal things. Erik was not like everyone else, and he had berated himself for not mastering his disgusting passions. She had not been unwilling, but she was only a child, and a naïve one at that. He had known better.

Finally Erik hadn't been able to stand his wife's agony any longer. Christine wanted a child, and so he would give her one. He had crafted automatons for the Shah of Persia before, and making a baby would not be nearly as complicated as those. He had spent countless hours creating the perfect baby for Christine – the baby that she deserved to have. Erik had tried to remember all that Christine had said when she had been pregnant – all of the hopes that she had had for the child before they had been cruelly dashed away. Erik had given her a malformed child, but the imitation would be without flaw. It would be all that Christine had ever wanted in a baby.

The end result had been absolutely perfect, just as he had intended it to be. The baby was a girl, a beautiful little girl with wispy blonde curls and delicate features just like her mother. Everything about her was faultless, from her tiny feet to her chubby waxen cheeks, and Erik had known that Christine would love the child as soon as she saw her. She would be so happy that her husband had given her such a perfect child!

When he had presented the baby to Christine, her entire face had lit up as she cuddled the bundle close to her chest. She had spent the night snuggling with the child as she rocked it to sleep, and Erik had felt nothing but pride. He had finally provided her what she wanted above all else. He had made her happy. He was a good husband.

Christine had named the baby Jacqueline – _the supplanter_ – and Erik had smiled grimly at the unintentional irony. His wife showed no indication of knowing that the child she held in her arms every day was only an imitation, and Erik did his best to keep it that way. Erik even used his ventriloquism tricks to make it seem as if the baby cried and fussed – anything to keep the charade alive. The wax figurine made her happier than she had been in a long while, and he enjoyed having his bride back.

Now she wanted another.

Erik sighed as he rose from the bed. He'd sworn to himself that he would keep his distance from Christine, but he'd obviously failed tonight, and he imagined that he'd fail other nights too. She could be quite persuasive when she wanted something, and he lived to please her. He could hope that the next child favored her instead of him, but Erik wasn't the type to live on wishes and dreams. He needed a plan, and the only answer was to start crafting another baby from the leftover wax in his laboratory.

He wondered if Jacqueline would prefer a brother or a sister.


End file.
